


The Doe Among Lions

by MageOfCole



Series: The Northern Wolf, a Southern Doe [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Arranged Marriage, Cersei is a bitch, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Harry Potter is Helaine Baratheon, I hate him and I think it shows, Labour, Not Canon Compliant, Not Robert Baratheon Friendly, POV Female Character, Pregnancy, Reincarnated Harry Potter, Robert is the worst, Stillbirth, The Game of Thrones - Freeform, This author does not approve of incest, Unhappy marriage, Unhealthy Relationships, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 03:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21246461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageOfCole/pseuds/MageOfCole
Summary: Cersei Lannister gives birth to two children, one dead and one living





	The Doe Among Lions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [how way leads on to way](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/530966) by MirrorShard. 
  * Inspired by [how way leads on to way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126113) by [petroltogo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petroltogo/pseuds/petroltogo). 

> The prequel to The Northern Wolf, a Southern Doe

_ **The Northern Wolf, a Southern Doe** _

_ **The Doe Among Lions** _

Queen Cersei Lannister has just seen her ten-and-eighth name day pass when she goes into labour the first time. It’s half a day of unbearable pain, of sweat and blood and vicious cursing, and she knows it’s Robert’s spawn she’s birthing because nothing from her wonderful Jaime would cause her this much pain.

And yet, her royal husband was no where to be found, off hunting boar if her midwives were to be believed, instead of with her to witness the birth of his firstborn.

Cersei lets out another bloodcurdling shriek, before falling silent with a gasp when the large infant is finally pushed out of her. Silence answers her as midwives flutter around her, taking the infant and whispering harshly to each other – and yet the child doesn’t make a sound.

“A stillborn,” One of them finally announces, and Cersei sags – there’s both relief and horror in her heart; it may have been Robert’s beget, but Cersei had carried that little life within her for the months since her distasteful marriage and bedding. To learn it would never breath was distressing.

“Let me see it.” She demands, wanting to see the child she had suffered for at least once before it was disposed of, and her wish is granted in the form of a too-still body being brought towards her.

It was small, ugly, a wrinkled mess with the gray skin of death and swollen eyes that would never open; on top of it’s disgusting head was a small cloud of wet dark hair. It was a hideous monster, and yet Cersei could feel warm tears drip down her already tear-stained face.

This was her son.

A dead son.

“Take it away.” The Queen rasps, and the midwives are quick to follow her orders as she turns her head away from the gruesome sight of the child that would never live.

“There is always the next child.” One of the older midwives offers, more experienced than the others, and Cersei glares at the useless hag.

She would be sure the next one wasn’t Robert’s – Jaime’s child would live where the oaf’s died, their golden children would be kings.

And suddenly, Cersei feels the fire once more, gasping on a scream as she desperately wants to fold into herself, but cannot because of her too-heavy middle. The midwives and maester are startled back into action at her shrieking, moving back towards her and abandoning the dead babe to attend to their Queen, frantic words that Cersei, in too much pain, can’t hear.

“A second babe.” Maester Pycelle, the disgusting old goat, says in the momentary lapse of Cersei’s howls. “Twins.”

_Twins_ – like her and Jaime, two parts of a whole – one of which would never draw breath.

With the urging of her midwives, Cersei begins the struggle to push out a life anew, grunting and gasping, and very much unlike her regular beauty, confined to the birthing bed with her beautiful golden hair tangled, and her perfectly golden skin clammy.

The second child is even harder to pass than the first, apparently as stubborn as the oafish man who had sired it, but finally the pressure lessens, and the strong cry of an infant heralds the birth of King Robert’s spawn into the world and the Game.

“A daughter, your grace.” The youngest midwife says finally, “A Princess.”

Cersei coughs through her pain, taking in large gasps of air to fill her aching chest, “Give her to me.” She holds out her arms, allowing the girl to place the dried and bundled babe in her grasp, and the wailing child goes quiet with a hiccup as soon as Cersei draws her to her chest.

Without her expression scrunched up in tears, her face was smooth and round, with dark, thick feathery lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as her foggy blue eyes drifting around the chambers, and seemed to lock onto her face with surprising precision. Her daughter was a tiny thing, smaller than her dead twin, with pink skin, and a headful of downy pale hair already showing signs of curling, hair that almost looked like the Targaryen silver-gold, probably inherited from the Targaryen grandmother that got Robert his throne.

Not that he acknowledged the blood ties that won him his crown, more than his battle prowess ever did.

_Well_, Cersei had always dreamed of having silver and gold children.

“Hello, my little princess.” Cersei murmurs, and the babe coos in response, wiggling in her swaddling, seemingly excited to hear her voice; the Queen can’t fight the small smile that grows on her face. “Aren’t you just lovely. You will be beautiful, my Helaine.”

_Helaine_, after Lann the Clever’s wife, the mother of the Lannister line, said to be the daughter of a god of light – a powerful name for a princess.

More importantly, a Lannister name instead of a Baratheon one.

“What of the King?” Maester Pycelle asks, and Cersei glares at the man.

“If the King wanted to name his child, he would have been here.” She says coldly as the babe burbles, and her father’s man bows and backs away from her birthing bed. Cersei turns her Lannister eyes back to her daughter, wondering if the girl would grow to have her green eyes, or her accursed father’s blue – maybe she would grow to favour her great-grandmother, Rhaelle Targaryen’s, rumoured otherworldly beauty.

“Perhaps her hair will darken. It happens quite often, mine own son was born blond, but grew to be brown of hair.” One of the midwives says nervously, and Cersei glares the woman away from her daughter; Robert’s hatred of everything Targaryen was growing to be well-known, despite how new his reign was, and the oaf would be foaming at the mouth at the sight of his current heir.

_Dragonspawn_, he called his cousins, ignoring his own blood – if Cersei believed Robert more intelligent, she would say that it wasn’t only the wolf bitch that made him rebel, that the Stark girl was only a cover for his own desire for the throne, and his hunting of all things Targaryen was simply a ploy to remove all threats to his reign. But it wasn’t Robert who had won the war, it had been her father and his Lannister cleverness and ambition that had gotten the Martell wench and her spawn out of the way, all to get Cersei the crown she had always deserved.

With the birth of Helaine Baratheon, Cersei had cemented her place as Queen, and proven that she could bear a living heir for the crown. And as a daughter, Robert’s bloodline would not continue on her family’s throne if she played the Game right; Helaine was her daughter, but she wouldn’t be a threat to her golden children, she would make sure of it.


End file.
